


and pegging!

by rillrill



Series: Revolutionary Whore [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Hair-pulling, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting back on the bed, she tries to imagine using — <i>this</i> — on her Alexander. Perhaps it comes as a surprise that it takes very little real imagination. She can picture his flushed cheeks, the way his breath might hitch, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back. The image is not unappealing. She admits freely to herself, she has always reveled in seeing Alexander come undone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and pegging!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry about the title. It had to be done.

_My dear sister,_  
  
_The days feel longer since you last departed for Paris. Homemaking has its virtues, naturally, but it grows tiresome at the worst of times, although the children remain healthy and continue to grow rapidly apace. Our home is happier since Phillip turned five; he is turning into a lovely young man and bright as his father. Angelica, your namesake sends her regards. Alexander speaks of you often and fondly; I daresay he misses your bright presence nearly as much as I do._  
  
_A few nights ago, Alexander proposed a change of routine in our marital life that I will admit left me a bit shocked. My sister, I ask you, since it seems you are responsible for putting the notion in my husband’s head with your silly banter — is it true that in Paris, the women, on occasion, are known to take the man’s position during certain acts? I told Alexander I would consult with you before I made the decision, but truly, in the moment, I was amazed and dumbfounded. Your guidance would be so valuable in this matter, for you remain the most worldly and enlightened woman I know._  
  
_W. love, your sister,_  
  
_Eliza_

 

 

 _Oh, my dear Eliza,_  
  
_My time has come. And so has yours._  
  
_What a lovely surprise to receive your letter of a few days ago. I will admit that it made me nearly nostalgic for our girlhood, the days spent giggling with the other girls over questions we knew to be hypothetical and improper. And yet! I also know — perhaps have always known — that you are quite capable of being the kind of wife Alexander desires, deep in the most unspeakable parts of his heart. Oh, he may profess more humble desires, but he does not tell the whole truth aloud. Men seldom do. But that he feels content enough to ask you for what he wants speaks volumes for his candor! You have found a remarkable husband, Eliza. The question is whether you, too, feel confident enough to express yourself on such a level._  
  
_In the meantime, I am happy to tell you that Alexander has not been misinformed. You will excuse my delay in this response, for I have taken it upon myself to procure a device that will thus assist you in this endeavor. I was in fact introduced to the practice by an American, a diplomat by the name of Thomas. You know the one. Perhaps his manner left something to be desired after the fact, but I admit, there is an element of power to the act that can be intoxicating in the moment._  
  
_In the package you will find everything you need. I am certain that Alexander will be able to fill in any blanks necessary. Please, my dear sister, do try to have a nice time._  
  
_Yours in love and friendship,_  
  
_Angelica_

 

 

Eliza feels her face grow warm even looking at the damned thing.  
  
It is perhaps not as large as she feared it might be, but it is much heavier, made from what seems to be solid, polished ivory. The extravagance of it shocks her almost more than the purpose. It’s cold too, though she assumes it will warm up with body heat. With _Alexander’s_ body heat. Goodness.  
  
The accessory that accompanies it — that’s even more overwhelming, a mess of leather straps she can’t quite make heads or tails of. She is vaguely reminded of a horse’s bridle.  
  
Well, then.  
  
She huffs a short breath and forces herself to study the thing a bit more closely. The size is not unpleasant, big enough that she can just wrap her fist around the thickest part. It’s obscene, perhaps, but elegant in its obscenity. She would never have imagined that such a device could be almost beautiful.  
  
Sitting back on the bed, she tries to imagine using — _this_ — on her Alexander. Perhaps it comes as a surprise that it takes very little real imagination. She can picture his flushed cheeks, the way his breath might hitch, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back. The image is not unappealing. She admits freely to herself, she has always reveled in seeing her Alexander come undone.  
  
So Eliza bides her time. She hides the thing beneath the bed, where she is certain it won’t be found until she decides how to to raise the subject again. The matter of phrasing, of how to float the proposition, confounds her. Yes, true, she knows Alexander will most likely thrill at the realization that such an intimate request is about to be realized. Maybe, she thinks, she has been selfish in her prudence to appear wifely and pious. Heaven knows she has certain fantasies that she would have Alexander fulfill if she could work up the nerve to ask him herself. Eliza works it over in her mind, turning over the possibilities. She considers, however briefly, consulting Lady Washington, but ultimately decides against it. True, she has grown to consider Martha a friend and confidante, but there remains between them a sort of implicit agreement not to discuss in depth their wifely duties to their enigmatic husbands. She does not know what Lady Washington might tell her, about her own husband or otherwise. She does not care to know. The amount of time necessary, if she wishes to again consult her sister, would draw out the process by another month at least. It seems, at this juncture, that she will have to go it alone.  
  
So with the words prepared, she retires once the children have been put to bed. She expects to have to pull Alexander away from his office bodily, but is surprised to find him already stretched lengthwise across their bed when she shuts the door behind her.  
  
“Oh,” she says in faint surprise. “Alexander. You’re early to bed, I see. Are you feeling unwell?”  
  
He smiles and sits up to kiss her as she nears the bed and bends to meet his lips. “I felt a little fatigued earlier in the evening and felt it might be prudent to take a short nap,” he says, “but no longer. Besides, my hand is rather sore.”  
  
“I can see,” she chides, brushing her fingertips over the near-permanent indent in his middle finger. It is bruised nearly purple from the tight grip he keeps on his pen. “You should have asked me to take dictation, if you felt compelled to keep working. I have the rest of the evening free.”  
  
“No, no matter,” Alexander says, wrapping his hand around hers. “The work will wait.”  
  
Eliza smiles. “I should have you put those words in writing for me, so I’ll know that just this once, you actually said them.”  
  
“I’d never sign it. The contract wouldn’t bind,” Alexander says archly. He dips his head to kiss the back of her hand, and then continues upward, dropping soft kisses up her arm to her elbow. Eliza smiles again and lets herself be pulled onto the bed, melting into his hands as he cups her chin and jaw to kiss her lips. He nibbles at her bottom lip and she opens her mouth obediently, sighing a little as her tongue meets his.  
  
“Alexander,” she says quietly as he begins to kiss down her jaw. He hums as he sucks at a patch of skin on her neck, just beneath her ear. She can feel her pulse flutter beneath it as she forces the words out: “I have a surprise for you.”  
  
There’s bewilderment in his eyes as he pulls away. “Again?” he asks, as he moves his hand to her stomach. “How long have you known?”  
  
She bats his hand away self-consciously. “Not that,” she says quickly. “I — a few weeks ago, you — asked me to consider doing something for you. Do you remember?”  
  
Alexander nods solemnly, his brow furrowed. “Eliza, you don’t have to—”  
  
“I want to,” she cuts him off. “I wrote my sister, I asked for her guidance. And in her haste and enthusiasm, she provided — well, look.” She climbs off the bed and busies herself digging for the package beneath it. She can feel the tingle of a blush coloring her cheeks as she presents the box to Alexander, who pulls it toward him and lifts the lid as if opening an exquisitely wrapped gift.  
  
“My God,” he murmurs as he pulls the toy from the box. His eyes flick up to meet hers, and he swallows hungrily, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Eliza.”  
  
Her cheeks burn warmer, but she forces herself to hold his gaze. “You want it, then,” she says. “You’d like me to — take you like a man.”  
  
Alexander’s breath hitches as he nods feverishly. “My God,” he says again, reverent and low in his throat. “Yes, Eliza, God yes.”  
  
He’s scarcely said the words before he’s kissing her again, and Eliza’s hands fly up instinctively to tangle in the hairs coming loose from his ponytail. He rips the ribbon loose, letting his dark, shiny curtain of hair fall free around his face, and Eliza works her fingers into it, tugging experimentally in the way that has always made him moan. He gasps into her mouth, and she smiles and does it again, tugging his head back playfully as he looks at her in awe. So responsive, her husband. He has never possessed the ability to contain his reactions.  
  
Alexander’s haste and arousal are evident. He works the buttons on his shirt collar open and yanks it off, shortly followed by his undershirt. Eliza grows warmer and slicker as he moves to unbutton his breeches, before he pauses and interjects, “Did Angelica send anything else?”  
  
Eliza digs into the bottom of the box, past the pile of leather straps she still can’t quite look at straight on, like a solar eclipse. From the bottom of the package she removes a small green glass bottle, gleaming with a silver stopper at the neck. Alexander nods slowly as he gestures for the bottle, uncorks it and gives the contents an experimental sniff. “Angelica does think things through,” he says, before setting it aside. Taking a deep breath, he returns his attentions to Eliza, who swallows around the nervous dryness of her mouth. “First,” says Alexander, “my Eliza must—”  
  
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he kisses her again, clambering atop her on the bed, practically vibrating with excited energy. Eliza moves her hands to trail along his waist and chest, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there. Slowly, methodically, he kisses down her neck, and when his lips meet her dress collar, he makes short work of undressing her. He seems to slow down the further he moves down her body, playing her like a finely tuned musical instrument — tongue here, teeth there, his hand against her stomach as he pushes the sleeves of her slip down enough to expose her breast and suck at her left nipple. The heat and want between her legs have become a throbbing need by the time Alexander pushes the slip of her skirt up above her waist and moves his lips to her thighs, laying soft, sweet kisses on first the right, then the left.  
  
It’s excruciatingly slow, the way he takes his time, lavishing little kisses on every square inch of her. When he finally reaches her core, he pauses, then slowly, softly, runs his tongue around the very outer edge of her lips.  
  
Eliza squirms against the bedclothes as he applies himself dutifully to the task. Alexander’s mouth is exquisite, so talented in every imaginable way, and he uses it like a skilled tradesman. She works her hands back into his hair and tugs to steer and guide him. She’s breathing heavily and whining a little as Alexander closes his mouth over her and sucks, sliding two fingers inside her, his eyes darting up to meet hers. Eliza moans out loud, matching his responsiveness with her own. He looks so beautiful, hard at work there, peering up from between her legs with lust clouding his lovely eyes.  
  
She tightens her hand in his hair, and he flicks his tongue against her, at least a couple dozen times in rapid pace. He increases the pace of his fingers, rubbing right against _that spot_ inside her, and the whole world builds and tightens before it all explodes, _Alexander yes please my love_ , waves of release washing over her, radiating outward from her core.  
  
Alexander works her through it steadily, never ceasing his movements. He draws out a second climax, just as the intensity of the first has peaked, and Eliza is gasping and panting, her heart hammering in her heaving chest, as he finally lays a final kiss on her lower lips and pulls away.  
  
“That was good,” she says weakly, and he bites down on his lower lip and crawls back up the bed to kiss her deeply on the mouth. He tastes rich and musky with her salty aftertaste, and it strikes an unusual hunger inside her. She lets him kiss her like this for the meanwhile, until the fatigue of her climax has faded from her limbs, and then pulls back, looking him in the eye and nodding.  
  
Alexander grins expectantly as he pushes himself up off the bed and opens his breeches. She watches as he peels them off his fine, muscular legs, reaches out to ghost her fingertips up his thighs. She has always gloated to herself when she overhears others remark on the shapeliness of her Alexander’s legs. They lend an almost feminine grace to his form, Eliza thinks, that may perhaps make this endeavor feel less strange than anticipated.  
  
When he is nude before her, Alexander reaches for the box and picks up the phallus and harness. “Right,” he says, and, tongue between his teeth, helps her into it. The fine, polished leather straps dig into the pale flesh on her hips as he secures the toy in position, and she lets Alexander guide her down onto the bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she lies back on the blankets. It’s funny, even with her slip hiked up above her waist, above where the ivory cock juts out from the harness, she somehow feels more exposed than Alexander, who kneels fully nude at the foot of the bed.  
  
He’s smiling as he shuffles toward her on his knees, clutching the little bottle Angelica sent in one hand. He straddles her lap and dips his head to kiss her again. It’s harder and hungrier now, his own cock hard in front of her, and she takes it in hand and strokes softly as he moans in response. Eliza watches through half-lidded eyes as he uses the oil in the bottle to slicken the ivory cock until it gleams in their bedroom’s low candlelight.  
  
It occurs to her that there might be a process to this, something she isn’t quite aware of. She tries to recall the filthy things she has overheard the men joke about during Alexander’s dinner parties. “Do you need me to…?” she asks, trailing off as he shakes his head emphatically.  
  
“No,” he says. “I don’t want — I just want to _feel_ you, Eliza.”  
  
She shivers and blushes again as he lines up the tip of the cock with his entrance and slowly, centimeter by centimeter, lowers himself down onto it. Eliza can’t tear her gaze away from his face, his dark, beautiful eyes blown almost black by his wide pupils. She feels as though she can track the sensation inside him just from the expression on his face, the wordless hiss he lets out as he sinks down further and further, one hand wrapped around the base of his own erection. It feels, in some strange, psychological way, as if she really is the one fucking him.  
  
“God,” he groans when she’s seated fully inside him. His eyes slide shut, and Eliza pushes herself up further on her elbows as Alexander lifts himself up an inch or two on his knees. Then he drops back down onto it, and he _gasps,_ and suddenly Eliza understands what Angelica meant when she talked about power.  
  
“You look so beautiful,” she hears herself breathe, and Alexander’s breath quickens. His hand goes back to his cock, and he uses the other to brace against her shoulders. And then he’s moving faster, rising up and dropping down over and over again, hair clinging to the sweat on his brow. His chest and neck are flushed, an uneven, blotchy crimson on his tan skin all the way up to his ears.  
  
“Eliza,” he babbles. “God, you’re so beautiful, I feel so full, you’re perfect, Eliza, the way you fill me up — _God, I love you_ —” His head falls backward as his pace begins to resemble bouncing, and Eliza feels overwhelmed with the visual, content to simply lie beneath her husband and watch him unravel.  
  
It doesn’t take long. The hand on his cock begins to speed up, and then she reaches out to knock it away. “Let me,” she murmurs with a sly smile, and he gasps again as she takes over, stroking him in time with his own motions. Up and down, up and down. One two three four, one two three four. He’s still babbling, but to call what comes out of his mouth ‘words’ would be generous. And then she sees his whole body stiffen, and he groans a long, wrecked _fuck_ and comes, quite messily all over Eliza’s hand and his own belly.  
  
Her Alexander lifts himself delicately off the ivory cock and collapses atop her, a mess of sweat and seed and oil and singing skin, and as he buries his face into the hollow of her neck and shoulder, Eliza flinches a little at the tickle of his facial hair against her throat. “Best of wives,” he murmurs, “and best of women,” and Eliza smiles against his hair, stroking his head indulgently.  
  
Her Alexander. Hers. Forever.  
  
She kisses the side of his temple as best she can. “I hope that was worthwhile for you,” she says sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind — I’d like that again, sometime, in the future.”  
  
He twists his head to look at her, a familiar boyish grin of enthusiasm flooding his features. “Really?” he asks incredulously.  
  
Eliza nods. “Perhaps I could even — go on top,” she says, and he bites down on his lip before kissing her deeply, hot and intimate.  
  
“You’re the boss,” he mumbles into her mouth, and Eliza smiles against his lips. Yes. She can work with this.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, sometimes you have to say "fuck it" and write the 1780s version of that scene from the pegging episode of Broad City. Imagine Angelica dancing in a handstand against a wall in Paris before she composes herself enough to write a response.
> 
> (The first person to draw that particular scenario, FYI, wins my eternal love and naming rights to my firstborn corgi.)


End file.
